


Every Dog has his Day

by Alex LeAmes (LovingAlex)



Series: My original stories [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Bakers, Gen, Heavy Sarcasm, Hitman story with a sarcastic twist, I Tried, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm trying something new with the POV, POV First Person, Work In Progress, a slow process..., but there's also "dog" in many different languages, hints of The Gay, lots of sass, mainly French and Dutch, random words in different languages, the MC is a little shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 04:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovingAlex/pseuds/Alex%20LeAmes
Summary: A story told through the eyes of a sassy hit man.Just cause he's one of the best in the field, doesn't mean he has to take things seriously all the time (who says he can't ogle that waiter's nice caboose while staking out his next hit? Or using loopholes in contracts in order to swindle the people into paying more than once?). It's a dog eat dog world, so why not become a hired dog for the ones whose barks are worse than their bites?Rated mature cause this is about a hit man and he has a potty mouth. (and maybe if he gets a little naughty with aforementioned waiter later on)





	Every Dog has his Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally brought by a prompt that I read that went "I let my momentum slide me across the floor until I was between the two of them and they looked down at me in surprise. “Bonjour bitches.” I smirked as I pulled the triggers. God, I love Paris."
> 
> I was inspired to write a story about a sass master hit man. Since the prompt was in first person, I also thought I'd try writing in that POV. Keep in mind that I don't normally write in this POV, usually I go for a type of third person. 
> 
> This isn't beta'd obviously, so I'd love all the constructive criticism you got. Feel free to point out my mistakes (if I have any with the foreign languages, for example) in the comments and just leave general reviews/thoughts about this.

I let my momentum slide me across the floor until I was between the two men. They looked down at me in surprise.  “Bonjour bitches.” I smirked as I pulled the triggers. 

 

God, I love Paris. 

 

The two men fell to the floor with wet thuds. Hmm, I should probably turn the water off. The sink got clogged when I shoved that guy’s arm in the garbage disposal, and now the running faucet poured over the edges and all over the floor. 

 

In fact, I should probably change before leaving, my clothes are soaked. It hasn't rained here in days, I'll stand out like a sore thumb. 

 

I stole a suit from one of the closets, thanking my luck that it was my size. There must've been a different person staying here. The three I just ganked were too hopped up on steroids, I'd be swimming in their shit. Though I guess they'll be the ones swimming for now on, hehe. 

 

Pausing at the full size mirror, I decided to remove the suit jacket and put on my dark brown leather one instead. “Ah, much better.”

 

The streets were a bit crowded, but it was to be expected with the nice spring weather. I took the tran farther into the city. 

 

Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of a five story office building. I checked the paper I was given, just to make sure, before entering. 

 

The secretary was a cute little thing, filing her nails as elevator music played over the com speakers. 

 

“Hello, do you have an appointment?” She asked in French, pushing a lock of her dyed blonde hair behind her ear. 

 

“No, but I'd like to see your boss,” I answered, keeping my speech in French just in case she didn't know my native tongue, Dutch. Although, if I think about it, she probably could've understood me if I tried English. It's been awhile since I've spoken Dutch anyways. 

 

The secretary gave me an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, but you must have an appointment to speak to monsieur Frankinson.”

 

“Just tell him his hired dog is here,” I assured her. She hesitated with picking up the phone. I urged her on and she gave me an uncertain look before punching in the number to Mr. Frankinson’s office. “Yes, sorry monsieur, but a man is asking to meet you. He doesn't have an appointment, but says he's your hired dog?” Her voice went higher at the end, making her statement more of a question. 

 

A pause. 

 

“Alright, I'll send him right up,” she hung up the call and turned back to me with a smile, “monsieur Frankinson will see you now.”

 

“Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle.” I gave her my most charming smile before heading toward the elevator. Her little blush didn't go unnoticed. 

 

…

 

Have you noticed that when they say they'll be right with you, they really mean “just sit there and wait until we feel like dealing with you.” That's how I found myself in yet another waiting room for the past half hour.

 

I'd taken to staring down at the people on the streets, watching as civilians of all ages went about their business.

 

A head of mint green hair caught my eye. Black peaked out at the roots, making the twin buns look like mint and chocolate chip ice cream. Interesting. 

 

The hair was connected to a curvy chub of a young woman. The bakery across the street must've been opening up, seeing how the girl, who wore a chef’s uniform, was just now writing down the special of the day on a little foldable sign. 

 

I couldn't make out what the words said, but could tell the font was swirled and loopy. The cute chef must have a personality to match. Also explains the choice of hairstyle. 

 

I made a mental note to check out the bakery once I'm done here. 

 

“Sir?” 

 

My attention snapped back to my current situation, turning to address the assistant that spoke up. My brows raised as an invitation for her to continue. 

 

“He will see you now,” she explained. Her accent practically dripped from her mouth as she addressed me in English. 

 

“About time,” I mumbled to myself, standing and leaving the thoughts of the bakery behind. 

 

Frankinson’s office was like most higher ups I've been to. The far wall was made of all window and honestly the intensity of the sun was starting to give me a headache. 

 

Or was that the blow I took to the head earlier? Either way, it wasn't helping. 

 

“Seeing as how you're still breathing, I take it that the assignment went well?”

 

“Logical assumption,” I replied stoically. Gods he's such a dick; his pompous attitude isn't anything new, but it's always an irritation. 

 

“Anything to take note?” He has yet to look up from the papers he's flipping through on his pristine --of course the jackass has to have everything shiny and in place-- desk. At least the well made darkwood desk went well with the other pieces in the room, the type of stain matching the organised bookshelves and polished side table that held an expensive looking vase full of flowers I don't know the name of. 

 

“Well, the fact that whoever was staying there definitely wasn't one of the ones I took out has been a real itch, but other than that, nothing.” Let’s keep thoughts on topic, shall we? 

 

“Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” Frankinson finally looked up from his oh-so-important papers to give me a questioning raise of his brow. Wow what an eikel. 

 

“It means,” I make sure to give him a tone that alludes to talking to a child, “that either the ring leader wasn’t there and got a free ticket to freedom, or the people I took out weren’t working for the person, but there to kill them just like I was.” 

 

Haha, he was starting to look a little pissed. “And what makes you think that, Qen?” 

 

“Well, first off, the suit I’m wearing,” I started off vague just to see the pissed off look on his face. “I say that because I got it from the room and there is no chance that it belonged to any of the men that were there. Aka none of the men were staying there, so none of them were the boss man.” Having to explain everything gets old.

 

Mr. Frankinson slammed his sausage-finger hand on the desk. What did the nice mahogany wood do to him? “Then where the hell is he!?”

 

I shrug, “beats me, how the fuck am I supposed to know where they went?” I know exactly where they are. 

 

“I hired you to get rid of them! Now go get rid of them!” 

 

Wow, touchy.

 

“Per the contract, you hired me to go to that address and kill the people there, we never agreed that I was to chase after someone who wasn’t even there in the first place.” Aw, he’s turning red like a tomaat, how cute. “Now, you  _ are _ welcome to another contract. But remember that that’ll result in a new payment too.”

 

“How dare you! You let them get away on purpose so you can swindle me out of more money, didn’t you!?”

 

“No, that’s just how it worked out. I couldn’t have let him get away if he wasn’t there in the first place.” Which is true, I followed the contract. I never break contracts, it’s a rule of mine. Now back to the fuming employer.

 

“This is not what we agreed! I hired you cause people say you’re the best, now I see that you’re just a con man who doesn’t do their job!”

 

Ouch, low blow. Going after my reputation is an banleur move. 

 

“Mr. Frankinson, I’ll remind you that I did  _ exactly  _ what you hired me to do as per our contract states. I’m known as the best because I don’t break my contracts and I get the job done. If you don’t agree, then don’t hire me again and I’ll be on my merry way to someone else.” I turn and start walking toward the door to make my badass exit.

 

“Wait!”

 

Hook, line and sinker. I pause to turn back to the man.

 

“Fine. I’ll-I’ll write up another contract, deal?” Hahaha, he’s acting all nervous like this is the first time he hired a hitman. We all know that’s a complete lie, but at least it’s cute.

 

“A new deal can be arranged, yes.” The gullible man sighed in what I’d like to describe as defeat. “You go ahead and write that up, I’ll be across the street. The bakery there just opened up and I’d  _ kill _ for some good pastries right about now.” 

 

Ha, hitman joke. Never gets old.

**Author's Note:**

> Eikel: literal translation is acorn, but according to urban dictionary, it's "Also used to describe the head of a man's penis, but most commonly used to insult a man. When used as an insult the most literal English translation for eikel would be 'dickhead' and is used in pretty much the same way.
> 
> Qen: dog in Albanian
> 
> Branleur: Wanker in French


End file.
